"I WAS AS SICK AS A DOG, SAID THE KID. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE AND THEN I WAS SCARED TO CONTINUE LIVING."
Cormac McCarthy, Meridiano de sangre
In mid 2013, the stability of suffering began to be insufferable for me. The day to day in Madrid, the weariness due to the overwhelming unbalance between effort and reward, the lack of signs that invited to foresee future improvements… I thought that carrying on had no sense at all. I began to question a fact that I had – in terms of mental health – never doubted: staying alive.
I placed upon the page the words – concepts – that clearly established my suffering. One by one, I freely put them to proof. At times viscerally, at times metaphorically, at times from confession…, and the mere act of writing calmed the intensity of certain images in my mind.
BIOPHOBIA, the stage piece.
He is young, he knows how to do things, he has energy. The world that he lives in doesn’t appear to be interested in any of his potentialities. He doesn’t let it bring him down. Quite the opposite, he strives even more, puts more hope into it, gives everything he has.
The world still ignores him.
He begins to become frustrated. He does everything that he has been taught that you must do for the world to respond, but nothing happens. Absolutely nothing.
The energy has accumulated. It becomes black energy. He is sinking into that darkness. He is not willing to disappear without first raising his voice: “I am a man, I am alive!”.